


too close to the sun

by charmedatmidnight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky just loves Steve a lot, Bucky writes letters, Captain America: The First Avenger, Letters, M/M, Past Torture, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Some mentions of torture/violence, Steve will never read them, Stucky - Freeform, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedatmidnight/pseuds/charmedatmidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things Bucky can't say to Steve, so he writes letters he never intends on sending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too close to the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Long Winter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799623) by [dropdeaddream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dropdeaddream/pseuds/dropdeaddream), [WhatAreFears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatAreFears/pseuds/WhatAreFears). 



> This is inspired by the wonderful Not Easily Conquered series! It's fabulous and I highly recommend reading it.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: There is a brief mention of past self-harm as well as torture.

_April, 1944_

 

You’re an ass, you know that? You’re the biggest Goddamn fucking asshole I know. You think that just ‘cos you’re all big now you can do whatever the Hell you want. You’re wrong, you giant fucking prick. But you’re too Goddamn stubborn to listen to a fucking word I say! Shit. You’re gonna get yourself killed. You’re gonna fucking jump through another explosion or out of another fucking plane or you’re gonna shoot yourself – remember when you almost shot yourself? ‘Cos I fucking do! – or…something. You’re gonna do something because now they’ve got you thinking you can do anything and one of these days… You’re gonna get yourself killed.

And then what?

I’m not trying to say that you can’t do anything. Darlin’, you can do _everything_. There ain’t never been nothing stopping you from snatching the Goddamn moon outta the sky if that’s what you wanted. Nothing. ‘Cos you’ve always been able to do anything. But not like anything now. Now it’s… Anything is different, I guess. The anything they’re telling you about – Carter and Stark and Phillips and Uncle Sam himself! – it’s different. It’s gonna end up killing you, you know? ‘Cos now anything is jumping outta planes and killing Nazis and storming Hydra bases and… Fuck, I can’t even name it all. It’s a lot. And you can do it. They’re telling you you can do it, and it don’t make no difference that I hate it.

But I guess you deserve this. You deserve to know that you can do anything. You deserve to believe it, I guess. And now you do. I just wish you weren’t fucking stupid about it.

Suppose it doesn’t really matter, though, does it? What I think? I mean, it does, except…not really. ‘Cos you’re not really thinking a whole lot about me now, are you? I’m not trying to say nothing bad about you. The opposite, really. You’ve just got a whole lot more to think about. You’ve got a whole country to think about! The world, too! I’m not really nothing compared to that, you know?

Not that I’d expect it to matter a whole lot, anyway. You’ve always had bigger things to think about, darlin’. Not the same as now, but bigger things. Like that Roger kid a couple blocks over, remember him? Always tried to steal your lunch when we’d walk that way. He was a Hell of a lot bigger. And it’s not really the same at all. But I guess nothing is anymore.

Do you remember when I ~~got drafted~~ enlisted? When I got my papers all signed and you were pissed as Hell and we just went out and I tried to make you dance but you were too busy being an ass to notice? Do you remember me talking about how things were gonna change? I don’t think you were paying much attention. You were too pissed. But I was talking about how things were gonna change. I told you that the war was already changing the world and I told you that things were already different for the Jews and everyone and they were scared to even live you know and I told you that I didn’t know how that felt but it must feel like shit and maybe that’s why my Dad didn’t want my Ma putting her Menorah right in the window no more, and you grumbled at me so I told you that I was gonna sock Hitler right in the jaw twice when I got to Europe – one for me and one for you. And then I think you started listening to me. Remember that? Well, anyway, I think I kinda get it now, the whole being scared thing. I remember one of the first nights over here we were in the trenches for the night and it wasn’t really all that cold – it was kinda like nights in October back home – and we were camped out waiting for orders. And I remember looking up at the sky and there were just…stars. Stars and stars and stars. There were more stars than I’ve probably ever seen in my whole life, I swear to God, and they were just there and it was beautiful. But then there was gunfire and I almost shit myself, no joke. Anyway, it was like there were all these stars that I ain’t ever seen before but they were _there_ and they’d always been there, and maybe what I’m getting at is that the fear is kinda like that, too.

Other things, too, I guess. But that’s…hard.

Can’t be as hard as trying to control your shield, at least. Let me tell you, that shit cracks me up. Hardly nothing makes me happier than watching you throw that thing straight into a tree or 20 feet too far left. It’s ‘cos your back, if you care to listen to me for a Goddamn minute. You were crooked before and you still stand all crooked sometimes when you throw that damn thing. That’s why it goes to the left. Like when we used to play ball outside with Tommy and Lou and Alfie and them.

What do you think they’d say if they saw little Stevie Rogers all grown up wearing the good ol’ Stars and Stripes? They’d like the outfit. Everyone does. The blue matches your eyes, sweetheart.

I can’t hardly believe it sometimes, to be honest. I look at you and you’re big and I gotta look _up_ and… Hell, I’m the one looking up to you. I’m always the one looking up to you. _That_ ain’t hard to do.

You’re not supposed to be big.

Sometimes I miss you.

Jesus Christ, what am I saying? I’ve got you here and you’re alive and I know you’re alive – most of the time. You’re Captain America!

Jesus Christ, forgive me. I wish you weren’t here. I wish you were small and back in Brooklyn and safe and mine. I wish you weren’t Captain America.

God, I hate Captain America.

They took you and made Captain America and – Mother Mary, please forgive me – I want you back. Is that so bad? It’s selfish as Hell, but I ain’t never claimed to be a Saint. Hell, I’d make a deal with the Devil Himself to get you back. ‘Cos you’re not mine no more. Guess you never were, but you certainly aren’t now. You’re _Captain America_. He doesn’t belong to a sinner like me. He never could. Besides, you got other people now. You got the other Commandos and the American people and the world and Carter.

Hell, you got Carter now and that’s all you need, isn’t it?

She’s real swell. You know it. I can see it when you look at her. And you know what? She’s looking right back at you. I don’t know if you’re really that stupid but in case you are: yeah, she’s looking at you, too, kid. She’s got eyes for you. And if you’re real smart or even just not an idiot then you’ll take her out dancing next chance you get. And guess what? When all this is over and you get home to Brooklyn you can take her to that little diner we always used to go to when we saved enough money, and you can buy her one of them big burgers and a chocolate milkshake – you’re gonna have enough to finally get a milkshake! It’ll be real nice. You just gotta promise that you’ll drink one for me, okay? And you gotta take her dancing, too. Have the band play something slow. Maybe some Judy Garland. You’ll have a good life with her. It’s what you deserve.

And me? I’m not making it out of this. I like to pretend I am. I tell you I am. Can’t have you giving me one of your Cap lectures or nothing. But I’m not making it out of this. I’ve known since I got my papers. I’m not meant to make it out of this. I shouldn’tve made it out of that Hydra facility. I think I was supposed to die on that table. I was waiting for it, you know? I knew it was gonna happen. No one ever came back when they got taken, and it was almost relieving when they finally grabbed me and dragged me away. I was waiting for it. I was waiting to die. But I didn’t. So I think it’s overdue.

Even if I don’t die here, I’m already dead. Or it feels like that. I don’t know what they did to me, Stevie. I’m missing days. Maybe weeks. Months. I don’t know. I only have flashes. Doctors and needles and sharp and pain – so much fucking pain – and Zola that bastard and, Hell, I don’t even know. I only got flashes. I saw you. Did you know that? When I was on the table. Except you were little and I wasn’t there and we were in Brooklyn and we were at Coney Island and there weren’t no doctors or nothing. I saw you a lot. You were there in my head and I think they were trying to take you away from me. It didn’t work, obviously, but they tried. They did something to my head. It ain’t right up there no more.

There’s not a lot that is right after…that. You’re always saying I gotta get more sleep, but you wanna know a secret? I don’t gotta sleep. I don’t feel tired how I used to. And remember last month when we had that weekend in London and I drank about 7 glasses of Scotch and you were teasing me about the headache I was gonna have in the morning? Well, you wanna know another secret?  I didn’t actually get drunk. I didn’t have a headache. I _can’t_ get drunk. Doesn’t work no more. I tried. And remember near the beginning when we were storming the first Hydra facility and one of them fuckers stabbed my thigh and Morita thought I was gonna bleed out? Here’s another secret for ya, sweetheart: I don’t even have a scar. I tried giving myself one, too. After it healed by the end of the week. I tried, and nothing. Pretty fucked up, huh?

But you got other things to think about. You’re Captain Fucking America. You got a world to save and Nazis to kill and Hydra to take down. You ain’t got time for me now. Not like that. And you know what? That’s okay. I don’t wanna tell you, anyway. Won’t matter in the end. I’m not making it out, remember?

Sinners don’t get to go home, and Lord, I have sinned.


End file.
